Rubber Worms and Suffering by Uncle Art.


My Great, Great Uncle (that means my Grandfather’s Uncle for all those feeling a little slow this morning) was a Forest Ranger and River Guide in the great state of Montana.  
The self professed collector of barb wire and potholes was also a bit of a word smith.  This Christmas a notebook of his surfaced with some fishing related wisdom.  I thought I would pass it on, publishing Uncle Art’s words on something he probably never could have imagined in his wildest dreams: a Blog on the Internet. Wax on Uncle Art…wax on… 

To my nephew William.
by Archibald Baisch 

1. Now Willie is a fisherman
A cruel one, I’ll explain
He strips the worms upon his hooks
And fills them full of pain.
2. Now when willie saw the worms get sick
He started into blubber,
He went down to the tackle store
And bought some made of rubber.
3. So then the worms were free from pain
But this you will admit,
That rubber worms will not digest
Now the poor darn fish can’t shit.
(for polite company substitute the following)
4. So now the worms are free from pain
But please let me elucidate
That rubber worms will not digest,
And the poor darn fish can’t deficate.
5. So for every life that lives at ease
Another fate is rougher.
For every thing that’s spared from pain
Another’s made to suffer.

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